


The Star and the Badge

by almaelson



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Brother relationship, Brothers, Family Story, Gen, Origin Story, Sweet, Uncle and Niece, Uncle-Niece Relationship, but not incest, non-incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 23:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14123241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaelson/pseuds/almaelson
Summary: Brynden Tully's life changes one day due to his fraught relationship with his brother Hoster and his strong family bond with his young niece Cat. (An origin story of how he took the name "Blackfish")





	The Star and the Badge

It was Edmure, not Cat, who was making all the fuss, grunting and huffing as he tried to knock Cat into the water. Cat was silent as Riverrun’s great hall at midnight as she kept her arms firmly horizontal, her fingers interlocked with her brother’s as she tried to push him off-kilter. _Stronger than Valyrian steel_ , Brynden thought as he kept his grip firm on Cat’s knees. He couldn’t see her face as she sat on his shoulders and battled her brother, but he imagined the set of her green eyes. Not steely like her grip, but with a steady focus, a deceptive blankness meant to unnerve her brother as he desperately tried to push her into the river. _Could have been a soldier_ , Brynden mused as he listened to Hoster yell encouragement up at Edmure on his shoulders. _But it’s fine that she’s not. She doesn’t need armor holding that spirit in._

Cat and Edmure were newly obsessed with this game that Brynden and Hoster had played as children. Lysa didn’t care for it, preferring to swim with her friends further down the river where they could gossip in peace, a handmaiden supervising them. Cat and Edmure had been swimming by the two brothers when Brynden had made an offhand comment about the game. “I was younger than you, but it made me more determined. That’s why I always won,” he nodded at Hoster, who closed his eyes and made no response.

Edmure had sloshed around in a circle and swum to the bank. “Always won what, Uncle?”

“A little game your father introduced me to.” Brynden leaned over, wet his fingers, and flicked them at Hoster. “Much to his chagrin.”

Hoster opened his eyes and couldn’t have looked more irritated than if the Freys had tried to invite themselves to dinner again. “One, two, three…” he muttered.

“I want to play the game! Teach me the game!”

Cat paddled over next to her brother. “What game? I want to play a game.”

“I wanted to play it first.” Edmure splashed Cat.

Cat slammed the side of her hand into the water and sent the wave crashing into Edmure’s face. “You’re not better than me,” she said. Edmure scowled and tried to splash her face but she’d already turned back to Brynden. “What’s the game?” she insisted.

            Brynden rose and removed his coat and boots. He stepped off the bank and landed directly between Cat and Edmure, soaking both their heads, the children giggle-shrieking. After Brynden explained the game, Cat immediately clutched at Brynden’s chest. “You hold me,” she declared more than asked.

            “Father?” Edmure patted his hand on the water. “You have to hold me. Cat got Uncle.”

            As Brynden continued to grip Cat’s knees while keeping his stance firm on the river bottom, he looked Hoster in the eyes. Hoster was still shouting up to Edmure to strengthen his hold on Cat’s hands and push her over, but he met his brother’s gaze. Brynden smiled mildly at him. Hoster didn’t scowl, but the lines on his face seemed more creased than usual. _Why couldn’t you have let us sit in peace?_ he seemed to ask with his eyes. Brynden rolled his eyes upward to indicate Cat. _What harm in playing with the children?_ he communicated silently back.

            “There’s no harm in it," Hoster said while they were toweling off later after Cat had successfully tipped Edmure sideways into the river, drenching the whole party in a wave. The boy was now chasing his sister, both of them dripping, back towards the keep, threatening to dunk her under the water and hold her there. Brynden caught a few of Cat’s words: “not scared,” and “already beat you first,” as the children’s feet thudded away.

            Brynden toweled his hair. “If there’s no harm in it, then-”

            Hoster sighed and rubbed a towel roughly across his chest. “Bryn, all I wanted was a quiet break watching the children before going back to work. I didn’t want to play games.”

            Brynden suppressed a scoff as he watched his brother tie the laces on his boots and bend up from the muddy grass. “They’re children, Hoster. They want to play.”

            “And we’re _adults_ , Brynden. And adults don’t have time for games.”

            Brynden crossed his arms. “That’s a very sad attitude, brother. Everyone should make time for a game once in awhile, no matter their age.”

            “Then this was my ‘once in awhile,’” Hoster snapped, unsticking his feet from the mud and making his way after the children. Brynden sighed audibly as he followed. “You’re a sharp man, brother,” Hoster said over his shoulder. “I’m the last person who needs to tell you that I’m busy.”

            “ _Too_ busy, some would say,” Brynden said, then cringed inwardly. _One, two, three…_

            “Oho! _Too_ busy! Well, let us see. I am the Lord of Riverrun. I have bannermen in my great hall petitioning me for hours every day. I have documents that need to be dictated, revised, sealed. I have ravens to send. I have three children who will all need spouses one day and I have to politely reject poor proposals while delicately crafting ones to other Houses. The sooner I forge these proposals, the better. We are a smaller House. We are not the Lannisters or the Starks. We have power, but we hold it because _I_ am the one wielding it. You have no such responsibilities. You have no wife,” – here he glanced back again at Brynden, who fought not to narrow his eyes – “and no children. You have no duties. You have all the time in the world.”

            Brynden closed the gap between them and gripped Hoster’s shoulder with his fingers, turning his brother to face him. “I have done my duties for this House,” he said in a low, controlled voice. “I have been a knight. I will always be a knight. I loved my brothers-in-arms who fought with me in the War of the Ninepenny Kings but none of them are remembered in this land but me. Tywin Lannister knows my name. Rickard Stark knows my name. The only people who don’t know my name from that War are the babes in arms. I don’t have to tell you our House motto. You say we are a smaller House. It may be so. But I did my _duty_ and I brought _honor_ to us. I have the scars to show for it. You wouldn’t have half the duties you do as the Lord without me. Ask the Seven if I’m wrong.”

             Hoster looked as if he wanted to spit bile at Brynden. “And you would have nowhere _to live_ as a proper knight if I didn’t let you stay here. You have no-”

            “No wife, no children. Yes, I’ve noticed.”

            “Do you know who sent me a raven this morning?” Hoster violently threw his shoulder back from Brynden’s grip but kept his face close. “The Redwynes. Their daughter, Bethany, is unwed and her father offered her hand to you. Do you want to know why I didn’t tell you until now? Because I knew _this_ would happen and I’m _tired_ and didn’t want to confront you yet. I wanted a rest watching the children before I summoned you to my room and gave you the letter. And I don’t need to ask you what your answer to this proposal will be.”

            Brynden kept his gaze locked with his brother’s. “I am an honorable man,” he said, with perhaps more of a low thunder rumble in his voice than he meant. “I will tell you my answer aloud. It is ‘no.’”

            “And _why_?” Hoster was biting back his rage and failing, Brynden could tell. “Why do you say that so quickly? Have you _met_ Lady Bethany?”

            “You know I haven’t.”

            “Oh, but I had wondered! Perhaps you had indeed met her? And found her character repulsive? Her manner stupid? Her body an _ill fit_ for yours?”

            “Careful,” Brynden breathed, his nails digging into his palms.

            “And why should I be careful around you, little brother? What are you going to do to me?”

            “I’m going to let you marry off your children. You have three. They’ll continue your legacy. In the meantime, you can let me live my life the way I want.”

            “I’ll throw you out,” Hoster hissed.

            Brynden unclenched his fists and rolled back a shoulder in a shrug. “Then I’ll leave in the morning.”

            “And who will take you in once they learn I’ve made you an outcast? Because that is what you’ll be. I’ll send ravens throughout the land sending messages that you’ve dishonored your House.”

            Brynden ground his teeth. “You’re wrong. Any of your bannermen would take me in.”

            “Oh, and all the brides they’ve found, the ones whom you’ve rejected? How will they feel about seeing your face?”

            “I know a few bannermen who are unmarried. One of them can spare a bed.” He felt a potent streak of anger towards his brother. “Or share one.”

            Hoster backhanded Brynden across the cheek. Brynden inhaled raggedly, his upper body twisting. Hoster raised his hand again. Brynden was too well-trained not to know how to immediately adopt a fighting stance, and a winning one. He caught his brother’s wrist while it was still a foot away from his face. He said nothing, letting his eyes burn as he locked them with Hoster’s.

            Hoster burned his gaze back and said, a little wildly, “You will never make a joking matter of being the misfit of all of House Tully again. Of being the disgrace and the black sheep. And that’s what you are. Truly. The black sheep of House Tully.”

            Hoster tried to yank his hand away but Brynden only clenched it harder. “I will wear the name as a badge of honor.” Then he released Hoster’s wrist abruptly and Hoster had to scramble not to fall.

Brynden didn’t spare him another glance as he walked away at his normal pace, heading toward the stable. The stable boy must have been taking his break because the small building was empty. Unseen, Brynden let his mask of composure fall and inhaled sharply as he gingerly touched his cheek. He knew a bruise was forming and would be visible for a few days, but he was too tired to care what the servants thought. It was what the children thought that concerned him. Had they heard the fighting? Last he’d looked, Cat and Edmure had been scrabbling around each other near a side door and Lysa was still at the river with her friends. Good. He would have time to wrap a chunk of ice in a piece of cloth and hold it to his face. No one need see him until dinner. He’d sit in a shadow. He leaned into one now, inhaling the scent of horses and straw. Quiet noises of the horses snuffling and summer insects humming soothed him perhaps more than ice on his cheek could have. He loved this stable. The loft was sacred to him. He’d spent nearly every day as a teenager here with his first lover, dismissing the stable boy who never asked any questions. Might he have known? Brynden hadn’t given a damn, then or now. All that had mattered was the darkness, their bed of straw, _his_ hands and mouth…

“Uncle?”

Brynden jerked his view away from the loft and turned to the open stable door. Cat was holding onto its edges, peering in, a cast of worry on her face.

Brynden smiled. He could never not smile when he saw Catelyn. “Little Cat,” he said softly, taking his hand from his face and walking towards her. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you getting dry inside the house?”

Cat looked at the ground, shrugging a small shoulder and tugging at her dress, still wet in spots. “Didn’t feel like it,” she murmured. She looked intently at the ground for a few more moments. Brynden waited. He had a feeling what she would do next and he braced himself.

He decided to say it so that she didn’t have to. “You heard me talking with your father.”

He was right. Her head shot up, tears wobbling in the corners of her green eyes. “You were fi-fighting,” she said, a crack in her usually sweet voice. “Again. You fight so much. It makes me so sad.”

“Oh, little Cat. Come here.” Brynden knelt in the straw and Cat swiped at her eyes as she moved into his arms and laid her head on his shoulder. He gently patted her hair. It was so vibrant, exactly the same shade as his when he’d been her age. “Your father and I disagree about many things, but none of them are about you and none of them are your fault. You know that, yes?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice muffled.

“You and Edmure disagree about some things, don’t you? You don’t always get along. Sometimes you even become annoyed with your little sister. It’s the way of siblings, even when they grow up.”

“He hit you. And then he called you a sheep.”

Brynden cringed. So she’d seen and heard the whole exchange. He cursed himself. It could never happen again. He tried to smile against her hair. “A very small jest. I won’t even remember it in the morning.”

Cat pushed her face deeper into his shoulder. He suppressed a sigh and cradled her against him. “Little Cat,” he whispered. “Peace will be between your father and me soon enough.”

“No it won’t.” Cat pulled her face, splotched red with tears, back from him. “You’ll keep fighting. But I still love you, Uncle. I still love you.” She laid her cheek back against his shoulder and then gripped her arms around his neck. He knew what to do. He lifted her to his chest and carried her back to the fortress, all the way up the stairs and into her room. He set her down on the bed and absently dismissed the maid who had followed them. He opened her wardrobe and took a fresh dress from it, flinging it blindly over his shoulder. He heard a hiccup-like giggle. “Ready,” Cat said when she’d finished dressing. Brynden turned back and waited until she’d settled herself against her pillow.

“Which shall it be this fine day?”

Cat fiddled with her braid. “Hmm. The knight who met the tree creatures?”

“So it shall be. There was once a knight who was very tired when he rode into the forest. Why, he was so tired that when he yawned, his horse yawned back!”

Cat giggled, no tears in her laugh. They’d be late for dinner at this rate, but Brynden assumed that niceties and politeness between him and Hoster were decidedly drowned in the river bottom for this day. Brynden could salvage the day yet by giving Cat a story and a smile.

***

            The stars were bright but Brynden still set his lamp on the windowsill as he settled into his chair by the window in his room. After he’d left Cat with her maid to wash for dinner, he’d walked to his own room and found a crumpled piece of parchment on the threshold. He didn’t need to bend down and uncrumple it to know what it was. _To his just and kind Lord, Hoster, of House Tully of Riverrun, the Redwynes pray to the Seven for his good health and long life and make a formal offer of their daughter, Lady Bethany_ … Although he knew what the letter said, Brynden was still surprised to find it. It was like Hoster to be irritated with him. It wasn’t like Hoster to be this petty.

            Brynden found he didn’t much care how his cheek looked, although a small pang in his stomach still worried him what the children would think. He’d put ice on his face but the bruise still looked fresh by the time he sat down in the great hall. Hoster had sat close to his children, placing Cat between himself and Lysa. Brynden took a seat next to Edmure, who looked at him slightly resentfully.

            “It was your sister who threw you in the water,” Brynden said softly to him. “Don’t be angry with me.”

            “I’m not angry.” Edmure poked at his meat without looking at Brynden. Had he seen the bruise? Brynden couldn’t tell.

            “Would you like to hear a story?” he tried.

            “Not tonight.” Edmure paused and swallowed. “Thank you, though,” he added quietly.

            And so Brynden had spent the meal mostly in silence. At times he could feel Cat looking his way but her father always called her attention back to him. Brynden pushed back his chair before dessert was served and claimed fatigue after the exhaustion of the river game. He kissed each of the children and gave Cat’s braid a gentle tug as he passed. When he returned to his room, he saw he’d left the crumpled letter on his desk. Why hadn’t he burned it already?

            The date. He’d seen the date when he’d picked it up.

            As he sat by the window, he tore off the strip of parchment with the date inked on it. It was written in beautiful black script in beautiful black ink and it was the ugliest thing Brynden had seen today, worse than Hoster’s face in rage. He hadn’t forgotten what the anniversary of today was. He’d not forget that if he lived one hundred more winters. It had never been truly summer since that day all those years ago. Yet seeing it in writing had lanced a cut in his heart and he’d had to sit with the night sky as soon as he returned to his room.

            _Look at the stars every night,_ Qhorin had whispered on this day all those years ago to Brynden, while Brynden had sobbed into his shoulder. _Look at the moon. Or just the sky, if it’s cloudy, or raining. Just look at it every night. And I’ll do the same. And that way you’ll know I’m thinking of you and I’ll know you’re thinking of me and it’ll be one night closer to when we’re together again._

            _I’ll never see you again. You can’t ever come back._ Brynden’s hands hurt from clutching the side of Qhorin’s window as he’d climbed in his room that last night but his throat hurt worse as he choked out the words between his tears.

            Qhorin had put both his hands on Brynden’s face and placed kisses all over it. Tears were shakily running down his own face. _I’ll find a way._

_How?_

_I don’t know yet. But I will._

_They’ll kill you for deserting. Everyone knows the Night’s Watch finds all their deserters and has them killed._

_I’ll find a way. On my heart and soul, I’ll find a way to come back to you. I love you too much not to try._

Brynden looked at the date on the paper once more and then re-crumpled it and let the flame of the candle lick it away into nothingness. He pressed his forehead against the glass of the window, then his cheek, then sat back and counted every star he could see. _I’m looking. I’m looking for you. Can you hear me? I’m calling for you. I remember every moment with you. Not one have I ever forgotten. Your father may have sent you away, but he can never take my memories from me. Did any two boys ever know each other body and soul like we did?_

            The starlight was bright but the light bobbing along the ground was brighter. Brynden blinked back a mist of tears, then rubbed his eyes and placed both hands on the sill, alert with tension. The small light was wavering on a path away from the river and towards the woods. A lamp? What else could burn so bright from such a distance? But why would any of the guards be going into the woods? He jammed his feet into his boots and tied the laces messily before grabbing his own lamp. As he lifted it, the light caught the glare from the lamp on the ground and he saw the fall of red hair down the back of a nightgown.  

            “I left my book somewhere out here earlier,” he told the guard at the side door in a confidential tone as he passed out of the castle. The guard gave him a strange look but nodded as Brynden strode away as casually as he could, towards the patch of trees. There weren’t really enough of them to be called a forest, but they’d provide sufficient cover for a little girl to hide in.

            As he neared the light, he made sure to take noisy steps on the ground and crack as many twigs as he could. Then he coughed a few times as he stepped into the circle of the glow. He heard a quick intake of breath and the fall of red hair whipped over a small shoulder in his direction.

            “Little Cat. A bit late for hunting creatures in the trees, isn’t it?” He crouched down and it was only when he put down his lamp near hers that he saw the knife in her hand. His blood froze.

            “ _Catelyn._ What are you doing?”

            “Uncle. Please don’t be mad. It’s for you.” Cat gestured at a small branch near her face. A flash of light glanced off the small blade.  

            “Catelyn. Give me the knife.”

            “Uncle, please.”

            “ _Catelyn_.” Brynden moved himself towards her but she held up a fist. For one wild moment, Brynden thought she meant to hit him, but then she opened her fist, palm upward. He angled himself to her side and took what she offered.

            It was a woodchip. He held it close to his face and looked at Cat, then at the branch, which was missing a chunk. She'd made the woodchip herself. She’d knifed it out of the solid tree. It wasn’t a thin chip, either. This had taken her effort to cut. He peered into her face. She looked more disappointed than afraid.

            “It was supposed to be a surprise,” she said sadly. “You weren’t supposed to know until I was finished.”

            “Cat, finished with _what_?”

            She toed the ground. “I’m making you something.”

            “Well, I always knew you were a sweet girl, but can you tell me why making something requires you to go into the woods at night by yourself _with a knife_? Cat, give it to me. Now. Where did you get this?” he pressed as she handed it over with a frown.

            “Jon gave it to me.”

            “Jon? Jon the guard?”

            “Yes. He’s teaching me.”

            “Teaching you what?”

            “How to…” She gestured at the chip and the knife. “Make things.”

            Brynden stared in disbelief. “Jon the _guard_ gave you a _knife_ and is teaching you to _carve_?”

            Cat nodded quickly, desperately. “Don’t be mad. Please. He’s nice. He’s teaching me and it’s fun. Father doesn’t know because he wouldn’t let me if he did. But it’s so much fun. Please don’t tell him. And please don’t be mad. Uncle, please!”

            Brynden lowered one hand down in a gesture of calm. “Little Cat, I’m not mad at you for wanting to have fun. But I can’t let it pass that you’re using a sharp object and going into the woods at night alone.” He nodded back to the castle and remembered whom he’d passed. “I walked right by Jon the guard, didn’t I. He let you out. Why, Cat? What are you _doing_?”

            “I was going to tell you! I promise! After I finished. He’s teaching me. He says I have to cut the wood myself, that it won’t work if I break it with my hands. I have to use my own knife. Because that’s what the First Men did.”

            The story was getting stranger than any of the ones he’d ever told to entertain her. “Cat, what do the First Men have to do with anything?”

            “Jon says that’s how they made things. They had their own knives and they cut the wood themselves and then made things with it. You have to be given the knife by somebody. And then you have to use it yourself.”

            “Jon the guard gave you a knife.” Brynden pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am going to have more than one word with Jon the guard.”

            “Uncle, listen to me! Please! I know how to use the knife! Jon taught me. I can use it. I won’t hurt myself.” She held her hands out and turned them over and back again. “Look. No cuts.”

            Brynden laid the woodchip and knife behind him and took Cat’s hands in his own. “Little Cat. I can’t let you do this behind your father’s back.” _Although, after today…_ no. He might be furious with his brother, but his fury hadn’t burned away his honor.

            Cat’s lip trembled. “But I’m making you a present.”

            Brynden squeezed her small hands gently as he sighed inwardly. He remembered her iron will as she’d been determined to push Edmure into the water. What had he thought about her then? That she could have been a knight.

            And just what had he been doing at her age?

            Thwacking other boys with sticks in preparation for sword training.

            Like uncle, like niece. One, two, of a piece.

            He gripped her hands and shook them. “Alright, little Cat. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to tell Jon that you have a new teacher. That’s all you’re going to tell him. Can you do that for me? Yes?”

            Cat hesitated a moment but nodded. “He’ll be sad, though.”

            “I know. But this is important. Because you’re getting a new teacher.”

            Cat squinted her eyes. “I _am_?”

            “You _are_.” Brynden gave her hands one more squeeze. Cat’s eyes widened. She smiled with all her teeth and jumped at him, her hair fanning out behind her head. He wrapped both arms around her and gently tugged on the ends of her hair. “But I’m making you a sheath for that knife first. No more wandering around with an open blade.” He let her go and put the knife in a jacket pocket, then handed her back her woodchip.

“What have you made so far?” he asked as he took her hand and they emerged from the woods with their lamps, their feet rustling the brush.

            Cat shrugged. “Not much. Some shapes. A circle. And a square. A star.”

            Brynden nearly slowed in his step as he looked down at her, then up at the dotted sky. “A star,” he repeated.

            “I can show it to you. It’s in my room.”

            “Yes.” He clutched the handle of his lamp until he could feel his nails in his palm. He didn’t remember tipping his whole head up to look at the sky, and yet there it was, the only sight he could see. He soaked in the lusciousness of the near-full moon and the endlessly scattered silver pieces of stars, the vast expanse that Qhorin had promised would keep the two of them close. United.

            Cat tugged on his hand. “Uncle.”

            Brynden tore his gaze away and looked down at her upturned face, its curiosity. “Yes,” he smiled as he walked along with her again. “I would very much like to see this star.”

            Brynden gave Jon the guard a knowing look as they reentered the castle. Jon cringed and moved towards him, but Brynden patted his shoulder quickly and continued along the passage with Cat. Cat’s maid woke up when they opened the door to her room, but Brynden merely smiled at her and mouthed the words “midnight snack.” Cat insisted on rummaging through a drawer before getting into bed. “Here, Uncle,” she said, proffering him her star. It was large, about the length of his thumb, the points bent at angles slightly off-kilter, but it was undeniably a star. “You can keep it, if you want,” Cat said as her maid tucked her into bed.

            Brynden pocketed the star and carefully laid the knife and Cat’s new woodchip in the drawer. “Thank you, little Cat.” As soon as she was settled, he kissed her cheek and whispered, “Sleep well, tree creature,” in her ear. She held a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle, her maid looking confusedly between the two of them.

Brynden kept the curtains open in his room so that the moon and starlight could lend their radiance to him. He settled into bed holding the wooden star. Jon the guard had taught Cat well. Despite its somewhat bulky shape (she was a beginner, after all), the edges were smooth and he wouldn’t get a splinter from running it through his fingers.

Carving had been a hobby among the soldiers in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, a way to relieve the boredom between troop movements and battle. He didn’t need to close his eyes to see a blade moving deftly around a chunk of wood, the shavings falling near Brynden’s side as he laid next to his lover at night. Steffon had made a fine art of the craft, chipping away until he had made small gems from bulky masses. He’d carved Brynden symbols of each of the Seven to wear under his armor during battle. Brynden had been carrying them when the last fight ended the War. He returned to his tent that night streaked in blood and bits of gore but each of the carvings had remained exactly where he’d placed them against his body. _See_ , Stef had whispered as he traced a line across Brynden’s back as they lay on their makeshift bed of furs. _I knew they’d keep you safe._

_What about my years of training as a knight? Didn’t those keep me safe too?_

_Shut up. You know what I meant._

            Brynden passed Cat’s star between his hands and turned his face to the night’s light.   _She never knew you_ , _Qhorin_ , he thought. _She never will. But look what she gave me today. When you left, you left me the sky. On this wretched day, she gave me a piece of it. She had no way of knowing what it means to me. To us. But look. You were my first gift. She’s my second._

_I’ll never see you again. But we’ll see the stars together every night._

When he woke in the morning, the sun a harsh glare through the window, the star was lying next to his face on his pillow.

***

            Hoster looked up from the letter, eyes on a spot somewhere over Brynden’s shoulder. “Well, he was a good friend during the War. He had my back, as they say. The least I can do is see if a change of environment would be good for his son, as he seems to think.”

            “How old is the boy?”

            “Cat’s age. But I’m sure he’ll prefer Edmure’s company. They can swim and spar together.”

            Brynden shifted in his chair on the other side of the desk and watched as Hoster refolded the letter and set it aside. Brynden wondered if Hoster was thinking of the very different letter he’d crumpled in a fit of rage yesterday. Hoster looked up at that moment, held Brynden’s gaze briefly, then cleared his throat and pushed his chair back. “Well. That’s settled then.”

            Brynden remained seated but nodded his chin at the letter. “I’m surprised I’m here, frankly. Clearly you’d already made your decision about the Baelish boy before you even summoned me. Why did you ask me here?”

            Hoster moved the letter with one finger from one side to the other, an unusually fidget-like gesture. “It was news. It seemed right to let you know a piece of news.”

            “You didn’t need to call me here to tell me a piece of news.”

            “Would you have preferred I didn’t tell you and one day you walked into the great hall and a strange child were sitting at the table?”

            Brynden shrugged and gestured vaguely with one hand. “The children bring friends into the castle all the time. As you said, I would most likely have presumed the boy was Edmure’s friend.”

            “And when you found out you were wrong?”

            “I don’t see how it would ruin my day, if I were wrong about-”

            “By the Seven, Bryn!” Hoster slammed his palms on the table so hard that the papers fluttered up. As they settled, Brynden kept his jaw firmly set, but let it slacken as he watched Hoster’s face. There was the usual weariness, yes, but the way he refused to meet his brother’s eyes was strange. Bizarre, actually. Hoster was known for staring any man down, even family, even his own children when they misbehaved. To avoid a gaze meant shame in his book. It meant regret.

            It meant apology.

            Ah.

            So the crumpled paper _was_ haunting him. Or his cruel words and the blow to Brynden’s face. Brynden took a breath. They had been wrong of Hoster, all of those actions. But his brother wasn’t a heartless man. He was asking Brynden to acknowledge his heart again. Could he do it? Brynden thought of Cat’s tears. _You’ll keep fighting. But I still love you._  

Maybe they couldn’t quite cross a bridge to each other, yet. But maybe they could face the same direction.

Brynden nodded once, more to himself than his brother. “I appreciate it,” he said quietly. The wound that existed between them would still be tender, but he put his face on the same level as his brother’s as he stood up. “Thank you.”

            “You don’t have to be so gallant all the time,” Hoster whispered, eyes still frozen to a place on his desk.

            “It’s just who I am.” Brynden said the words simply but he saw Hoster quirk one side of his mouth. His brother slowly angled his head up and met Brynden’s eyes.

            “Yes. I should have known.”

            Brynden kept his chin up. “You already do.”

            The other side of Hoster’s mouth quirked. It wasn’t a smile, but it was better than steel. It was better than nothing. “Yes.”

            The wind blew strands of Brynden’s hair against his forehead as he sat on the bank with his feet in the water. He’d dismissed Lysa’s handmaiden. “It’s a hot day. Take a rest. I’ll watch the girls.” Lysa and her friends splashed and played their secret games. Brynden leaned back on his elbows. Somewhere, Bethany Redwyne wasn’t receiving a raven with good news from House Tully today. He sent a prayer to the Seven that the girl would find a good match elsewhere. _My heart is Qhorin’s. Forever. I will never be a husband._

            The object plopped onto his lap and his soldier’s instincts made him sit up in one smooth motion. But it was just a small chunk of wood. He pinched it between his fingers and examined it. As soon as he realized the shape, he felt two little arms hug his shoulders from behind, their grip so fierce that he nearly tipped over. _That Valyrian steel grip. I’d know it anywhere_.

            “Do you like it? Did I do a good job?”

            Brynden patted the grass next to him and Cat hunkered down, pointing at the wood. “Look. Do you know what the marks mean?”

            Brynden tugged her braid. “Of course I do. They’re scales.”

            “Yes! So I did a good job? I did it without Jon’s help. I’ll make you another one someday, when I get better at it. When you teach me.”

            Brynden shook the wood gently. “You can make enough fish to match the ones that swim in the sea for me, little Cat, but this will always be the first one. And that will always make it good.”

            Instead of grinning like he’d expected, she looked almost solemn. “I made it for you, Uncle. To remind you that you’re a fish. You’re not a sheep like Father said. You’re a fish. Don’t forget you’re a fish.” The solemnity on her face had turned to determination.

            Brynden gestured at the pocket in his jacket closest to his heart and put the wood in it. “I won’t forget it. I’ll keep it right here and it will remind me I’m a fish.”

            Cat grinned that special grin, the one with all her teeth. As she slid off the bank and into the river, Brynden took the fish out of his pocket and looked at it again. _Black sheep_ , he thought, running his thumb over the small scales Cat had cut into the wood.

            That day, he rode into town and paid a merchant several coppers for a pot of black paint for the fish. Later, he and Cat painted it together.        

           

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like more of my invented backstory of younger Brynden's love with Qhorin Halfhand, you can read about its origins in my (explicit) Brynden/Jaime fic, Men Without Armor: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13925457


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